Hope keeps the fire of love burning
by passionflower24
Summary: Its been six months since the final battle. Six months since Harry defeated Voldemort. Six months since anyone last saw Hermione, she was beleived dead, but Ron insists she is still alive. He still has hope.
1. Hope reimbursed

Hope reimbursed

"Hermione?" he looked around the vast open area that was engulfed in darkness and almost screamed in exasperation.

If she were here then he would never be able to see her.

The sky was velvety dark; there were no signs of any stars or even the moon.

The air was icy cold, and as it blew past him, whistling eerily, Ron involuntarily shivered.

There were people around him, some he was sure were calling his name but they were a blur.

He didn't try to see what they were asking. He didn't try to see who they were.

"Hermione!"

This time it was more forceful but nobody answered him, and nobody came. He lifted his hand to his hair and shut his eyes tightly.

As he opened them the scene changed. The dark wilderness of everlasting black vanished and the voices that were calling him faded slowly away.

The world around seemed to spin uncontrollably and with a last burst of bright white dots, it changed to the last time he saw her,

and with this memory came a waterfall of tears threatening to erupt from his eyes.

She was there, dressed in her Hogwarts robes, smiling at him, her arms outstretched.

His breathing constricted as he laid his eyes upon her glittering eyes and smiling face and he felt a hint of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

He moved forward but as he tried to embrace her his arms surrounded nothing but air.

She disappeared, leaving no clue that she had been standing there previously, except for, he thought wistfully,

a light lingering smell of passion fruit that had always scented her hair. He let out the breath in an icy shudder, a breath he did not realise he had been holding.

Without her presence his existence seemed pointless and for minutes he stood there, his ears straining amidst the painful buzzing from the silence.

After he didn't know how long, he heard the first sound that wasn't his own, in this place it seemed foreign but he recognised it.

It was a quiet but cruel laugh, and it mocked him. He knew that voice, but at the moment he could not place it. Only one thing was important to him now.

"Hermione," It was now a whisper, as it escaped his mouth. He was alone, totally and completely. No passion fruit scent, not even the cold laugh. "No, please…"

The tears within him seemed to evaporate by the heat of anger that burst from him.

Slowly, it felt that whilst his energy drained from him so did the colour in the room. Before it turned pure white, Ron felt cold and dejected and his heart fit to burst.

The room was so bright that it was beginning to hurt his eyes.

"Hermione!" He screamed it, the sound of her name straining his vocal chords.

Kicking out to a wall beside him, he looked around wildly as if expecting her to appear again, by his side, as it always should be, but all he received instead was a soft vague echo of her voice.

"Help me, Ron," was all it said, but it reverberated around the empty room. He dropped to his knees.

There was a slight flickering sound before the brightness of the room popped out to leave Ron shaking, on the floor being swallowed by the darkness.

Suddenly, someone was shaking him.

"Ron?" A voice was calling him, but it was becoming clearer, unlike the ghostly voices he had heard before.

"Ginny," he answered her, and slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on his bed and the sheets were tangled between his legs.

He sat up. His vision was blurry and he brought a hand to his eyes, only to catch himself wiping a tear away.

His face burned with embarrassment but Ginny instead sat on the bed beside him and hugged him. It was all he needed before he burst into tears.

Ginny patiently sat there, arms wrapped around her brother and her heart ached for him. It had been six months.

Six months since the final battle and Ron was still having these dreams. As she thought of Hermione, however her own eyes began to prickle uncomfortably but she forced the tears away.

Ron did not need her to cry.

It took a couple of minutes longer for the tears to reside before Ron released his sister and wiped his eyes.

Without a word, he climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom where he immediately splashed water over his features. He looked into the mirror. His deep blue eyes were red and swollen.

He brought a hand to stroke the stubble atop his chin and grimaced.

"She spoke to me," it was barely a whisper but he didn't need to speak louder. His hearting was thumping almost painfully within him.

"What did she say?" her voice was soft and soothing, but her heart was beating harder and harder against her chest. "Ron?" she questioned quietly.

"She asked for help," Ron spoke quickly, and as the words tumbled from his lips the resolve that had been born there, months ago on that tragic night were reimbursed with even more determination.

"Ron-" Ginny began to comfort him but she was cut off.

"No, Gin," his voice was firm, "I know she's alive," His voice was no longer monotonous but full of the fire and passion that had been there before that day.

The passion she had almost forgot existed within him, and she realised with a start that this passion was a quality that Hermione gave him.

" I know it Gin." He turned to look at her, and she saw his eyes. They were sorrowful, but full of hope. They had long since lost their boyish cheek but at the moment they sparkled with fortitude.

"I can feel it," his face was twisted into an expression of deliberation and pure love. " I can feel it here, in my heart."

It was a simple remark, and her heart lifted as she watched him place a hand over his heart to emphasize his feelings.

Ginny sighed at his words. How she wished that it was true but how could it be? Nobody had seen Hermione for months.

At first there had always been hope that she would be found, and they had looked. And looked. And looked.

Slowly after weeks past the hope began to fade, and after weeks turned to months only Ron had still held faith, after all there had never been a body.

" I know the next step, Gin," he whispered. She looked up, her brown eyes boring into him. She waited. She didn't need to ask.

"I heard it in my dream" his voice was bitter as he replied to her unasked question and she could hear the anger that resided there.

"I'm going to pay a visit to our old friend." His voice was shaking with anger and hurt and at the mere thought of the name,

and the laugh he had heard in his dream, his fists clenched forcefully.

When Ginny thought of it, only one name came to mind that could boil up the anger in Ron, in this way.

"Malfoy." It wasn't a question. As she said it, goosebumps erupted over her creamy white skin.

Ron was going to pay a visit to Azkaban.

A/N so? What do you think?review please!!!!!


	2. A jumble of thoughts

A jumble of thoughts

She opened her eyes and peered around the dark room. The curtains were open and through it, she could make out the glow of the moon, shining brightly amongst an array of golden pinpricks.

Slowly lifting the cotton sheets, she lifted her feet from the bed and sat up. She breathed in deeply and wriggled her toes around in the thick carpet. She felt empty inside, and… lost.

She always felt a sense of loss after one of her dreams and they always made her restless. She padded across the room and looked through the frosted glass, into the dark abyss outside. It was very late, or very early depending on how you wanted to look at it.

Opening the window she took in a deep breath of the icy air and shivered slightly as it penetrated her body.

Sighing, she turned and walked out of the room, careful to make as little sound as possible in the small apartment.

It was perhaps ten minutes later when she sat comfortably by a roaring fire, curled up in a comfy chair, holding in her hand a mug of hot chocolate, that she found her mind pondering the dreams she had been having of late.

"Adela?" a voice sounded softly in the room, and with a sudden jerk she was pulled from her thoughts to look at her roommate.

"Hey, John," her voice was soft and hazy, but she turned her body slightly to face him.

"Another dream?" She nodded slightly at his words. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"I don't know, there was that guy-"

"The red haired one?" She nodded.

"In a room. He was talking to me, but I- " she paused, taking a small sip of her drink.

"I couldn't hear him, I asked him for help, but-" Her lip quivered.

"I'm so confused, John!" He moved forward before wrapping her in a warm embrace.

She slowly edged him away, and stood up to peer in the mirror over the fireplace.

She had never known what to think of her looks. She fingered her wild bushy brown curls and pale complexion. She was startled to see her honey coloured eyes look large and hollow and it scared her slightly.

She turned away from the mirror.

"Why can't I remember?"

She was thoroughly frustrated and threw her fist onto the mantelpiece in anger, completely disregarding the salty tears that were falling softly from her eyes.

She closed them tightly and tried desperately to remember.

She moaned softly as the images penetrated her mind.

Flashback

She opened her eyes and gasped slightly as a wave of pain travelled through her body.

It was dark, and she lay on the ground, her body curled into a tight ball to try and overcome the pain.

Her head was throbbing, and as she lifted a hand to her forehead, she shrieked softly as she acknowledged the red sticky blood that covered it.

Recoiling slightly, she crawled to a wall and pulled herself to her feet. Her breath was raspy and she was suddenly aware of the noise.

Noises from nearby cars and the bustling of people.

She slowly shook her head in confusion and tried to take in her surroundings.

The alley was dark, and smelling terribly, overhead she could see nothing, not even the moon.

She realised with a jolt, that it must be quite late, and a chilling breeze swept through her, causing her to start shivering involuntarily.

She looked down at her clothes and leant against the wall to stop her from keeling over at the sudden wave of dizziness that overcame her.

She was aware that her garments were slightly out of the ordinary, some sort of long black cloak, but it was torn and jagged in places.

She gulped and tried to suck in a breath but a searing pain shot through her throat, moaning slightly, she tried to edge forward using the wall to steady her.

Slowly inch-by-inch she moved her body forwards, towards the muffled noise of the vehicles.

She felt apart from the pain, extremely frightened.

Who was she? It felt so clichéd, to suddenly wake up, battered and with no recollection of whom you were,

but she felt no one could understand the pure terror of losing your identity.

Hell, she couldn't remember what she looked like, yet alone what her name was.

She felt the tear fall and drip along the curved exposure of her cheek, but she left it there.

It hurt to move too much and she couldn't bring her hand up to wipe it away.

She cowered as she reached the road opening, and suddenly, her senses moved into overdrive.

She swayed dangerously as she heard the loud zipping of the cars speeding by like bullets. She felt her knees buckle as she lost all strength in her body.

She was on the floor.

"Help," she whispered in a short gasp, her voice was foreign to even her ears and she felt sick to the thought.

Suddenly she saw a pair of large scuffed trainers appear next to her and she whimpered.

The man bent over to look at her.

"Are you ok?"

He seemed thoroughly flustered and panicky. She felt him lean beside her and check her pulse.

She wanted to mumble a thank you but the man was already standing and talking into a mobile phone, having dialled 999.

She just closed her eyes, and waited.

It wasn't long before a curtain of darkness blew over her thoughts and brought blissful unawareness to her pain and confusion.

End flashback

She let out a groan of frustration, as much as she tried the memories came and went and she could not force them.

Nothing very clear had come to her before she had woken up alone, only snippets of information in the forms of pictures or phrases.

She rested her head on her arms.

"Adela?" She whimpered slightly.

"It's not my name though is it?" He didn't answer.

He simply stood awkwardly by her shoulder, waiting for her to continue.

She lifted her head, and looked into his eyes.

"I feel incomplete, like there is something absolutely huge that I'm missing."

She brought a hand up through her hair and tried desperately to find the words that would do justice to the whirlwind of emotions between her.

"These dreams are so unnerving, kind of like my conscious self is trying to tell me something, trying to make me remember. I feel sure of it."

He could only look at her with a mixture of pain and grief mingled in his features.

"I feel like I've lost part of my being, something or someone as part of my heart."

She felt ready to scream in her frustration.

"You mean the mysterious red haired man?"

John spoke quietly and in a defeated tone that clearly told her that he was disappointed.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was quiet and for a second she dismissed her problems to look into the eyes of her friend.

" I just feel connected to him somehow-"

"I understand, and I have news for you." She looked at him sharply. "I'm not sure you'll like it but, I think it may help." He looked at her quietly and hesitated before he continued.

"Okay, well I think it's a good idea that you should see a specialist who would help you with-"

"A shrink." Her voice was tinged with scepticism and her arms were crossed at her chest.

"Look," John's face beheld a look that was weary and he turned her to face him, obviously not willing to argue.

"Maybe he can help you to unlock your past, I don't know but try it will you?"

She sighed dejectedly and nodded slowly.

It was later in the day that Adela was able to really ponder her thoughts.

She put on a coat and left the apartment. She didn't think, just walked, straight into the park, pulling her coat around her tighter as she gazed indifferent at the soft blue sky and the golden leaves on the trees.

She had been doing a lot of that lately. Just getting out to walk. As she reached the park, she paused at its rusty gates and sighed.

She looked around her, the trees were full of gold and red leaves, and children were playing in the park. She chuckled slightly as a football raced towards her.

She bent down slowly and picked it up. A little boy, perhaps about eight or nine years old reached her, his face and hands grubby from the play.

She handed it to him, and smiled slightly as she watched him run back to his friends and resume the game.

She looked up at the sky, her gaze penetrating to endless horizon, frustrated. Nothing seemed familiar.

It was every now and then that she would come across something that would jar a memory or a flashback and she thrived on those times.

It was funny that certain things would bring across memories of the most unusual kind, and sometimes she feared greatly that they were not memories at all, but perhaps her mind playing tricks on her,

simply because she had never head of such things happening anywhere.

Her thoughts flickered to the last memory that her mind had grasped. It was within a dream, and she remembered waking up and feeling thoroughly refreshed.

She relished now, on the feeling of total happiness that had followed. It had been a strange dream. She had been submerged underwater, she could hear nothing but a strange eerie tune,

the words were unclear to her and sometimes she pondered what they were, but it never came to her.

She could not see the ripples of the water or the depth but it had been deep, she just seemed to know.

She had felt nicely warm despite the whirls of liquid whisking around her had been strangely cool, it had tickled her skin but despite it all she had felt completely safe.

John had been terribly shocked when he had first heard of the dream from her. He had thought that the idea of being surrounded by water would have been truly terrifying.

She had also felt the cynicism in his tone and body movements that doubted that she had ever felt the water on her skin.

He suggested she was perhaps in a boat and below deck, or scuba diving. She had agreed,

to keep him quiet, but her mind knew otherwise and the thought did scare her a little, and only confused her further.

She took in a deep breath of the crisp autumn wind and sat herself down on an old wooden bench. Adela, she thought to herself.

She tried it out loud, sounding each syllable. It certainly wasn't her name, and it didn't seem to click.

She had in her first week with John researched many possible names but either she hadn't met it or it hadn't jolted a memory.

A sudden gust of wind sent shivers through her spine and caused her to look up. Within the flurry of leaves whistling on the ground, her eyes locked onto a single leaf that was floating,

falling gently to the ground. Her mind jolted and she closed her eyes as a picture flashed into her mind.

The leaf twisted and turned into a single white feather, but instead of continuing to the ground it floated upwards into the sky.

"Swish and flick," a little voice that was soft and high pitched echoed in her head and she faintly recognised it as her own. Without reason or contemplation she had the sudden mad desire to laugh.

_Why?_ she thought frantically. But her mind did not let her reach further into its depths and this memory was just as confusing as the last.

A/N So do you like? Please click that little review button and tell me!

Even quicker update if anyone can tell me where her flashbacks are from! 


	3. Azkaban

A/N- sorry for the wait but its here and a much longer chapter by my standards so please, enjoy!

Azkaban

When Ron awoke, he cowered at the light that was streaming through a gap in the curtains. As he stood, he without deliberate thought reached under his pillow to extract the photograph.

It had once been his only comfort and now it was his morning ritual. As his eyes bore into the smiling faces and waving hands, he was surprised to see that it for once didn't bring tears of sadness to them, but simply a feeling of determined faith and will.

It wasn't a very old picture, taken in their last year at Hogwarts. In fact it was one of the last pictures taken of Hermione. She was standing there, between him and Harry, an arm around each of them and much like all the pictures Ron possessed, all three of them looked extremely happy.

Harry was grinning widely and Ron smiled faintly as he thought of his best friend. Harry had been so happy, full of exhilaration at this point and much of this he thought, frowning slightly had a lot to do with a new _friendship_ he had acquired with Ginny. But Ron chose not to dwell on that, because of course he trusted Harry with his little sister. His eyes flickered to Hermione.

She was also smiling widely and he saw a faint blush redden her pale cheeks. His heart leapt as he saw her move; turn her head just so slightly to kiss him softly on the cheek. He saw himself redden immediately and send a look of awe to Hermione who was once again looking at the camera. His heart filled with regret.

He had told her of course, right before the final battle, much after this picture had been taken. He had told her that he loved her, and that she meant more to him than anything in the world. There hadn't been time for a long heart to heart. There hadn't been time for loving kisses and embraces.

There had simply been time for Hermione to whisper a reply softly into his ear, and for her to place her lips on his, just slightly, and as her lips brushed his, and shivers were sent down his spine he knew that she was the one and only person he would be with, no matter what. He had had no time to tell her this, so he had simply reached for her hand and squeezed it slightly.

That had been the last time he had seen Hermione. He had tried to keep his eyes on her at all times, but in the midst of the huge battle, a battle so deep that people could barely see through the continuous bursts of lights and the smoke, he had lost her.

He remembered that moment when Harry had emerged from the forest. His robes were bloodied and his body shaking with grief. His eyes had been wide glinting with power; he would have looked frightening, Ron remembered. If he hadn't had had those tears streaming down his face.

Tears of pure relief and fear and Ron had known from one look that he had been successful, and he moved forward to embrace him. They were brothers, Ron knew that and behind him, he saw the death eaters trying to scatter. Harry had moved Ron gently aside and he had single-handedly performed a curse so powerful that each death eater had dropped to the ground, bound and caught.

"For Dumbledore," Harry had whispered, and Ron knew that the tears had come then for him too, but they were not tears of misery they were tears of joy. Too happy to comprehend, that had been the thought on everybody's mind. That was until Harry had turned to look at him. Ron knew his eyes were searching for their missing counterpart, and the other third in their trio, and suddenly Ron had also turned, his eyes grazing the bodies and landscape. She had not been there.

Ron, along with Harry, had not given up. For three straight weeks they searched for her, with hordes of ministry officials and regular civilians willing to help. Gradually though, people gave up, it was one month. Two months. Three months and Ron and Harry looked. Soon Harry gave up too and Ron had felt entirely alone.

Ron brought his thoughts back to the reality, and he shuddered as he looked around his empty room. He placed the picture back under his pillow and shook the thoughts away. He knew that if he dwelled on them further they would poison his mind and draw him back into a state of depression. A state that he seemingly had just exited from and livened from a new optimism he had found.

"_I will find you Hermione, if it's the last thing I do. I'll never stop looking." _He said the words aloud and his breathing rate quickened. As he was leaving he stopped at the doorframe, taking out his wand he whispered a quick spell. In a flash, the photo zoomed from under his pillow and into his hand. Carefully he placed it tenderly in a pocket on the side of his robes, and patted his chest slightly. Comforted and feeling a surge of bravery envelope him, he apparated away to his destination.

Ron looked across the sea. He could barely see it; it was merely a pinprick away, blackened against the rough waves that collided with its dark walls.

"Berkley," Ron nodded to the man sitting overlooked in a small outhouse by the waves. He looked at Ron and recognising him immediately, he looked around and opened the door. Ron entered in a flash and the door was shut sharply. He was not surprised to see that the outhouse was significantly bigger than what it looked like from the outside.

Ron lifted his hand from his pocket, extracting with him a laminated card, holding his picture and auror details.

"Who are you here to see, Mr Weasley?"

"Malfoy," he uttered the name with pure hatred and watched with satisfaction when Berkley's eyes widened. He said nothing, however and nodded quietly.

"Will you require Veritaserum?" Ron nodded slowly.

"And also an interrogating room." Berkley gave a sharp nod before continuing.

"You will find it in the shape of a boot, nine o' clock sharp, Weasley. And if I were you I would head over there first." Berkley jerked his finger expressively behind him before turning and re- entering his post at the door. Ron turned his head in the same direction and grimaced as his eyes grazed over the chocolate shop.

Ten minutes later he was once again outside, his boots crunching softly against the smooth pebbles of the beach. He looked at his watch. 8.30. He looked around the small deserted cove, shuffling the pebbles with his feet.

He squashed the feelings of nausea and discomfort at the thought of where he was going and he mentally prepared himself for the battering his mind was soon to encounter. Bending down he picked up a pebble, and felt its smoothness between his fingers. He curled his fingers around it and took in a lungful of the salty sea breeze.

Overhead he heard some seagulls calling and he looked up at them curiously, he frowned slightly as he watched their peculiar behaviour. They were flying over the sea and beach, occasionally dropping down to pick up a piece of litter, but the strangeness that bothered him was their flight paths, and to a muggle it would seem odd that the gulls appear to deliberately avoid that large area so far away, Ron knew the reason though.

Not even a gull would dare fly overhead the gaping brick walls; even they avoided the eerie coldness that was like a force field around the towering fortifications. With a flick of his wrist Ron sent the pebbles across the water and watched as it skimmed the surface, skipping over the waves.

He looked at his watch again and realized with a jolt that he had been standing there for nearly half an hour. He looked around, cursing inwardly at his stupidity. He hadn't even found the object yet. He spun around, letting his eyes wander over the stones and the white foams bubbling as the waves moved calmly inwards and out.

He saw it five minutes before nine. He eagerly rushed forward and grasped the shoe by its lace. Now with it firmly between his fingers, he lifted his watch upwards and gazed at the second ticker moved.

"10…9…. 8…7…6…. 5…. 4…3…2...1." He whispered the countdown under his breath and as he reached one, he shut his eyes, and clutched tightly to the boot. He felt that all too familiar pull at his navel and disappeared with the portkey.

When he opened his eyes again he found himself being steadied by a familiar face, Mad Eye Moody stood before him, his face ever aware of his surrounding and his magical eyes swirling around in its socket.

"Professor," Ron nodded to him. Moody grunted.

"How many time must I tell you kids that I was never your professor," Ron chuckled despite himself, it seemed strange that this time last year he had just started life out of Hogwarts.

With all the trouble in the wizarding world every magical graduate was well appreciated. He had moved up the ranks quickly, and was newly appointed as an Auror.

He had turned down many jobs and offers however, but no one dared to scold him, not even Mrs Weasley. Everybody understood that Hermione was the most important thing and nothing was going to sway his judgement. Nothing would hinder his hope.

"This way," Moody mumbled and Ron turned to see the tall rotting parapets, standing sturdy. It was about a half a mile into the island. He squinted slightly and he saw without doubt the building that all wizards feared. The prison of Azkaban.

Covering the stretch of land, Ron noticed with curiosity, numerous rows of a twisted spiky sort of metal. As Moody uttered a spell to move them out of the way, Ron shot him a questioning look.

"It's called barbed wire." Moody indicated to the dangerous looking metal, eyes glinting. "Turns out, these wretched muggles are good for something after all," Ron bent over to look at the rusty remains and shuddered as he detected a hint of dried blood caked onto some of the needle sharp edges.

"Need I ask why you're here Weasley?" Ron swiftly turned his head towards Moody, and their eyes locked, even Moody's magical eye bore into him, but Ron did not back down.

"Information on the whereabouts of Hermione Granger." Ron spoke defiantly and snatched away the connection. Moody had apparently read enough of Ron's reasons though, and he wasn't scared to question him.

"Weasley, it's been six months."

"She's alive, I know it." Ron walked ahead of Moody and discreetly placed a hand over his heart, above where he kept a picture of her.

Moody said nothing.

As Ron moved closer and closer, he found himself weakening ever so slightly. His chest began to feel incredibly cold. He ignored it and ploughed through the huge steel doors.

Once inside, he fought every instinct within him to keep from screaming. Dementors haunted the doors, their robes whirling slowly around them. Ron felt as though he were going to choke, and he gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Moody passed him a small piece of chocolate and Ron gratefully took it, immediately his insides warmed, melting the ice that seemed to have infested there with the presence of so many Dementors.

He was amazed and slightly unnerved by the set up of the prison. The corridors stretched like a maze. Fire torches dimly lit them. He watched in astonishment, as the flames seemed to grope and gasp for oxygen to burn, with tendrils of the flames flickering now and again. Ron knew why, for inside the building it was icy cold.

The stench within was vile and Ron found it hard not to gag.

He followed Moody silently through the never-ending maze of dark corridors, leading him higher and higher into the battlements. Finally when they reached the top, Ron found the door to a single room, flanked by two Dementors. Moody nodded for him to enter.

Ron moved forward and cringed as a flash of unhappiness buried into his heart. He remembered the devastation at the loss of Hermione. However this had a different effect than meant by the Dementors. It simply stirred him on further.

As he entered the door locked with a slam, and the noise reverberated in the room, causing Ron to flinch. The room was a simple interrogation room. One table, two chairs.

"Hello, Draco." Ron greeted, his tone strangely calm, but laced with venom.

Malfoy looked up and his face contorted into an expression of pure undiluted loathing.

"Weasley," he spat. Ron was pleased to see that he was chained to the chair by strong heavy magical shackles. He looked awful; his once well groomed hair long and shaggy, full of dirt and practically dripping with grease. He was wearing the standard black robe that stated his name, _Malfoy_, across the top corner.

"By yourself, Weaselkins?" Malfoy's eyes were silvery in the darkness and his face was mixed into a manic expression of spite and anger. Ron knew his cheap distraction tactic was to get him riled up about Harry, or… Hermione. He also knew however, that if he were to dwell on the past too much, if he were to dwell on Malfoy's crimes, then he would certainly not be able to stay in this room, and restrain himself from strangling the guy. He stopped himself at the thought of Hermione, and steeled his barriers.

"I'll be asking the questions, Malfoy." Ron reached deep into his pocket and fingered the bottle. "And you had better pay attention, and answer me as best you can unless you want me to resort to other ways of making you talk." He trailed his voice ever so slightly and lifted the Veritaserum from his pocket, swishing it before Malfoy's face, jeering slightly. Malfoy looked slightly affronted but nodded in agreement.

"When did you last see Hermione Granger?"

Malfoy hesitated but continued as Ron unplugged the bottle offhandedly.

"A few days after the final battle." Malfoy had apparently decided the best way to handle the situation was to provoke Ron, and thus each of the words followed in a mocking tone.

Ron's face lit up as this statement, ignoring Malfoy's tone. He had been right, Hermione had not died that day.

"What happened!" his voice was edging desperation, and Malfoy could see this.

"What? The wonderful, brilliant Granger couldn't get herself out of this little mess?" Malfoy's voice was dripping with sarcasm, "I'm not telling you willingly, and you are not allowed to force me."

He sounded like a little child, deprived from their favourite toy. He was smug, and waiting to Ron's next move of attack, he seemed to have switched tactics immediately as he realised that he was giving Ron hope.

"Wrong answer," Ron spoke grimly and called to Moody, who entered quickly. Ron nodded. In an instant Malfoy was stunned. Ron lifted the bottle and poured the serum down his throat.

The next thing Malfoy knew was that he was sitting upright, with a blank expression covering his features.

"Where is Hermione?" Ron placed both hands on the armrests of Malfoy's chair, gazing into the depths of his eyes.

"I don't know." Ron kicked the wall in frustration.

"She is alive though?"

"I don't know," Ron brushed a hand through his hair; at least she was not definitely dead.

"What was the last that you heard from her?"

Malfoy's next response was slow and forced, but the serum was doing its job. Malfoy answered.

"When we took her." His eyes had changed. They were gleaming madly and a wide grin spread across his features. Ron felt a flush of anger rise in the back of is neck.

"Took her?" His voice was menacing and bordering fury.

"Oh we took her, from the final battle, from behind. Nobody saw." He laughed. Ron clenched his fists.

"We?" Ron watched as Malfoy nodded before answering.

"Me, Crabbe and Nott." Ron could almost hear Hermione in his mind correcting Malfoy's grammar mistake with loathing. He shook it from his mind.

"What," Ron cleared his throat. "What did you do to her?"

"We tortured her, we beat her and performed the crutiatus on her numerous times. We knew the battle was lost, but Granger was Potters best friend, and she had also mocked me at school, that stupid mudblood. She had it coming."

Ron growled angrily at the remembered insult and dived forward at Malfoy. In a flash he felt himself strung and frozen in midair.

"Are you calm, Weasley?" Moody's voice echoed faintly through the door. Ron waited slowly for the adrenaline to fade, for the anger to calm. When he was ready he nodded slightly and he felt the magical bond on him slacken. He shot a disgusted look behind him, through the door. He knew Moody could see him.

"Did you kill her?" Ron's heart was beating hard against his chest. He felt as if he had just lapped the Quidditch pitch five times.

"We were going to, but Nott had a better idea," Ron demanded with a voice that sounded so dangerous that the sedated Malfoy quivered.

"We cast a spell on her."

"What spell?"

"A spell to make her forget, Nott had been working on it for some time."

"Obliviate?"

"Worse," Malfoy's smiled wickedly.

"How?"

"The person will know that they cannot remember, they will feel incomplete, and live their lives a total misery."

"Would she ever be able to regain her memory?" Ron knew he was nearly hysterical, but he didn't care. He needed to know.

"It was never tested," Ron felt his heart skip a beat.

"So what happened to her?"

"We dumped her."

"Where?" Ron was nearly shouting now, his body was shaking uncontrollably. Why hadn't he come to Malfoy sooner?

"I don't know, somewhere in Scotland. Even if you find her she probably won't even remember you." Malfoy laughed again, his eyes were wide and his hands gripping the chair tightly, his knuckles white. "You've lost her Weasley."

Ron's lip quivered and a flame of rage exploded within him. Turning away from Malfoy slowly he clenched his fists and counted to ten in his head. The spell had never been tested. She might still remember. It didn't matter anyway, there was a possibility that she never died and suddenly Ron found it hard to breathe.

He knew he had searched Scotland at least twice over in the last couple of months. How could he have missed her if she was still alive?

Suddenly Malfoy's head lolled to the side and he passed out. Ron jerked around and shook him violently. Moody rushed in and extracted Ron from Malfoy's robes. Ron recoiled. Nodding curtly at Moody, he turned and left the room.

As Ron reached the beach he collapsed to the floor. He felt the tears coming and let them fall freely. From his pocket he extracted and ate a whole bar of chocolate. His body warmed and felt physically stronger but his mind whirled.

Malfoy was mad, that much he knew, and despite the truth potion Ron knew that the information he had got could be distorted. That is if Malfoy's mind was distorted.

All he knew was that if Hermione were in Scotland, then he would find her for sure.

He roughly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and glanced around the coast to see if anyone had witnessed his weak moment. It was deserted. There was only one other person who could help him right now. He drew his wand and apparated to Harry's apartment.

A/N so? Don't keep me hanging! Press the little review button and tell me what you think!

Also much thanks to my beta _Dresa _and all of my reviewers, please keep reading, and reviewing it makes my day!


	4. And the plot thickens

Chapter four… And the plot thickens…

Adela sighed contentedly in her comfortable surroundings. She sat, with her feet curled beneath her like a cat, in a large, soft armchair. Her head was resting lightly on the cushioned back of the chair, and a heavy book lay open on the armrest. Outside the weather was bitingly cold. The wind whistled through the dark streets and the windowpanes creaked every now and then from the pressure.

She had come back from another walk to find an empty house and she had not been able to resist a snug reading fest. At the moment beside her a huge fire crackled and the flames danced around the pieces of coal majestically. She could feel the warmth rush into her body and she relished the wonderful fuzzy feeling she got as her fingertips felt the light pages of text and the heat tingled in her cheeks.

On her lap was a large bar of chocolate that she had felt was a must. Every other page she reached down to break a piece off and slip it into her mouth, moaning slightly as the sugary sweetness covered her taste buds. It felt strange to her, that despite living in the apartment for almost half a year that she only ever felt home when she was in a corner reading.

She had found pleasantly that reading could easily take away her pains and anxiety. The public library in particular was a sanctuary for her and she loved the way her mind raced when she was open to the vastness of literature.

John had found her intense cravings for knowledge amusing and had suggested that she craved it merely because she also craved the knowledge of who she really was. She knew better though. Something inside her told her that somehow she always liked to read. Perhaps this was why it had become so much of a comfort to her, because it was a fraction of a link to her past.

At the moment she was holding a very large, very old volume of text that she daren't show John. It was entitled, 'Sorcery and the Ancient Crafts'.

Whilst perusing the columns, shelf after shelf, this particular book stood out to her. It was nothing extraordinarily different. The cover was brown and peeling and the title was embossed in small-defined gold letters. The pages were yellowing in age and sometimes a dusty residue would wipe off from her fingertips.

A musty smell emitted from the pages and she breathed it in wholly, whilst flickering her eyes over the words. The content was interesting to say the least; it covered many aspects of witchcraft and symbolic rituals. She had so far learnt of ancient history and culture surrounding the topic from places such as South Africa to India.

She traced a finger lightly over a drawing of a dragon, scales a dulled red and eyes piercing. She felt a shiver run down her spine and she shut her eyes. Her head was throbbing, but as her eyes clapped shut another image unfolded before her.

A dragon, a huge black dragon, rearing its large ugly head, shooting fire, swinging back and forth a long spiked tail, for some reason a wave of panic surged through her body and her hands flew up to her face covering her eyes and pressing hard into her cheeks. In a matter of seconds the dragon was gone and she peered into the depths of the fire, squinting slightly as the blaze of light attacked her senses.

Dragons? She shook her head lightly in confusion, raising her hands to now tinged pink cheeks and winced as she felt a few small welts where had fingernails had dug into her cheeks. She did not want to even contemplate why she was having visions of a huge black dragon, and she pushed aside the feelings of horror and fear from her. This whole thing was ridiculous. Each vision was getting weirder and weirder, yet somehow she could not seem to toss them aside to nightmares, they felt extremely real, and this fact alone truly terrified her.

She shut the book and put it aside. She plucked up the last piece of chocolate and bit into it. The fire had made it soft and creamy. She concentrated on chewing, and on the taste, and soon enough her rough feelings ebbed away. Standing up, she placed her book on the chair and stretched pulling her arms high above her head. She caught sight of herself in the mirror above the fire and stared unabashedly at herself.

Her brown her was radiant in the dancing firelight and her cheeks slightly flushed from the heat. Her hair, in all its bushiness was completely a mess, more so than usual. She had attempted to tame it in a large thick plait of curls, but the shorter hairs had escaped in clumps at the front and was now fraying in all directions, making her look slightly like a lion.

She sighed exasperatedly and reached to quickly try to redo the plait. Unsuccessful, she tied it in a knot at the nape of her neck, ignoring the frizzy tendrils falling around her face. Tucking them behind her ears she went into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of cold water.

She sat down lazily on a stool. She felt her mind wander to the red headed man once more. She felt so lost and confused and thoroughly frustrated, a part of her wanted to know who he was more than she wanted to know who she was herself. She twiddled her fingers grasped a pen from the workspace lightly.

She imagined being near the man, pulling her fingers through his fiery hair. She imagined with a small twitch at the corner of her lips what it would be like to kiss him… this whole situation was a mess.

She kept having visions from her past that were so strange that they were unlikely to be true and now she was fantasizing about a man she not only didn't remember but also didn't even know if he was a real person at all. She groaned and dropped her head onto the table, squeezing her eyes shut. She jumped slightly as the door clicked opened and shut.

"Adela?" John's voice was soft and questioning.

"I'm awake," she grumbled in reply. He walked through the partition and tilted his head at her.

"Anything wrong?" She knew better than to tell him about the dragon so she just shook her head softly.

"Just confused as usual." Her mind drifted away once again, but she was brought out of her stupor as she felt John's shadow tower over her.

"What's this?" With a huge effort she lifted her head to look at what John was motioning to. It was an old envelope that had been lying on the workspace but it was covered in little doodles that she had unconsciously been making, during her line of deep thought. Frowning she reached up and took it from his hands.

Staring at the picture closely, her eyes widened and she mumbled something to John about rubbish doodling, and with an exclamation that she was in fact very tired, she moved quickly to her room and shut the door. She lifted the picture up to her eyes once more. She could not understand it, for the life of her.

Shaking her head slightly she tossed it aside onto her bead and moved into her bathroom to brush her teeth. The envelope drifted slowly through the air and wafted slowly until it hit the sheets. The front was covered in little scribbles, but the main part of the drawing though sketchy was unmistakably an old key. What was strange about it, however was that it seemed to have sprouted wings.

It was soon around one in the morning, and Adela still hadn't fallen asleep. The moon shone brightly through the gap in the curtains and cast a faint silvery glow about the walls. Her eyes were glazed over as she absentmindedly stared at the light. She had now become accustomed to a dull ache in her head. She knew it wasn't a physical problem, she didn't know how, but she did.

The reason that she was so unhappy had to do with her past and the fact that it was still lingering within her, with her powerless to uncover it. John didn't seem to understand. He was her friend and he tried but there was something mysterious happening in her mind.

She had researched amnesia, and forgetfulness of ones past and she knew that it was normal to feel unsettled, perhaps as if she was incomplete. She also knew that the level of her symptoms were higher than they should be. John had marvelled how she seemed so adept at analysing and deciphering concepts that she put her mind to.

"You have a great mind," he had said. She didn't care. If her mind was so great then why couldn't she figure this all out? Her past was a gigantic jigsaw puzzle. She had a strange feeling that as young as she seemed to be she had been significantly important for something.

She reached to her bedside table, for the napkin with her drawing on it. She had not even realised that she had been drawing anything in the first place. She grimaced as she saw the artistic detail enamoured into it. The key was old looking and seemed rusty, it was hard to tell in a biro drawing. The wings were firm, but looked slightly cramped as if it had been tightly enclosed within a fist.

Leaning back on her pillow she closed her eyes and let her mind wander to the most recent visions of her past. She remembered that when she had first been discovered, bruised and alone by John that she had not gotten a glimpse of a flash for around two months. Then as time had passed they had become more and more frequent. This week she had gotten three in two days. She thought about the meeting with the psychologist in a few days. John had said something about the use of hypnotism. This encouraged Adela. This seemed like a very good method of learning facts about her past that her conscious mind would not let her uncover by herself.

What frightened her to the pit of her stomach was that her visions didn't seem possible. They didn't seem to be reality. Her mind wandered to the black dragon as she thought this. Perhaps they were symbolic, it was entirely possible she thought, but a small voice in the back of head strongly disagreed. Some small part of her mind thought that these visions had really happened. Was she going completely insane?

"Mum?" Ginny called lightly as she looked around her old home. She sighed as she took in her surroundings. The comfy looking chairs and the homey clutter of cookery books, photographs and knitting that lay scattered on the mantle pieces and in small corners. It was funny, she was eighteen years old, and had been forced to grow up so quickly.

Her generation would always be deprived from that. The careless recklessness that you were supposed to have being young, but being in the midst of a War had changed everything. Not that she minded too much, now that she had Harry, but all the same, coming to the Burrow always gave her old memories.

"Ginny, precious!" Mrs. Weasley came out of the kitchen, wearing a chocolate brown apron and a grin. She embraced her mother warmly, clinging to her more than was entirely necessary.

"What's wrong?" Her mothers voice was tinged with great concern, and Ginny lifted her face upwards to stare into her mother's eyes.

"It's Hermione, isn't it?" Ginny marvelled at how her mother could always seem to pinpoint the exact problems Ginny had been having, and she felt a lump in her throat as her mother's voice broke in remorse as she said the name.

She didn't know what was wrong, that was entirely the problem. She needed to tell someone about Ron. She was so worried about him, and all this talk about Hermione not being dead had unsettled her, she knew that.

Usually she would have told Harry her problems but not with this. She understood more than most the pain he had endured after losing Hermione. Her throat hitched thinking about it. She also knew, as much as she wanted to, that she couldn't tell her mum either.

It was true that Hermione had been a part of this family as much as Harry was, but until his very moment she had never truly realised the full extent of the love that her mother felt for her "other" daughter.

Ginny was wondering what to tell her mum when the door creaked open. Ginny had never in her life been so happy.

"Bill!" She screeched before running to him and racing into his outstretched arms.

"Hey Gin." He smiled warmly, though she could see the brotherly love within him rise and his suspicions fortify within his eyes.

Keeping a firm arm around Ginny protectively he moved aside and Ginny smirked. Fleur entered, holding a beautiful child in each arm.

Mrs. Weasley was in her element. They were after all her first grandchildren.

Letting out a soft "oh," Mrs. Weasley embraced Fleur before outstretching her arms towards one of the twins. Annette giggled and moved across to her grandmother, fingering the chocolaty apron curiously.

"'Ow nice to see you, Mrs. Weasley, I am 'oping zat you are well?"

"Molly, please, fine fine, wonderful to see you both as well!" Mrs. Weasley blissfully answered her and tickled the chin of Aurora, still with her mother.

Ginny's heart swelled as she looked at her nieces. Annette and Aurora were both thirteen months old and exotically pretty, even for young children. They each had identical strawberry blond hair, which shone like the sun, thick and wavy; it flicked a golden colour in the light as Aurora turned to look at her. Their cheeks were rosy and their eyes were an exquisite indigo colour. She supposed it was the Weasley genes mingled with Fleur's veela bloodline that gave them the look, and it was incredibly adorable.

"We've come to stay for a little while," Bill said grinning, and Molly squealed with delight. Bill and Fleur had married about two years previously, when Ginny was in sixth year, and had been very happy since, despite the troubles of the war. Fleur herself was looking radiant as usual, her long silvery blonde hair plaited prettily down her back. She smiled at Ginny, who grinned back.

"And 'ow are you, Ginny?" Ginny giggled at the strong French accent and hugged her sister in law.

"She's coming for a little chat aren't you Gin?" Bill tightened his grip around her shoulders and steered her out to the door once more. Ginny gave in and let out a little wave over her shoulders to the two women behind her.

Once outside Bill pulled her towards the old willow at the back of the garden and sat her down on the wooden bench.

The air was crisp, and an autumn wind whistled past them, swaying the leaves and freshening her body. She closed her eyes and her lungs filled with blissfully cool air. She shivered, and a single salty tear tickled along her rosy cheeks, leaving a soft trail on her skin.

Bill sat down next to her, and wiped the tear away.

"What's the matter Gin? It's not Harry is it?" His voice sounded strained.

"Oh, of course not! Don't you get all protective of me, please!" Her voice was slightly shrill, and Bill quickly apologised.

"God, Bill, I'm so worried about Ron!" There, she had said it.

Bill's demeanour changed extremely quickly, and his protectiveness switched to his youngest brother.

"What's wrong?" His voice was calm but sharp. Ginny looked into his face. She realised with a jolt that he of course wasn't the young mischievous Bill she had grown up with. He was an adult. He had matured. She felt her breath relax, Bill would help her.

"It's Hermione." At saying the name her voice broke and another tat fell down her cheek. "He's so sad Bill, he's having nightmares!"

Bill brought up a hand to his face, placing it over his forehead. His eyes closed in a pained expression.

"He won't accept that she's..." Ginny hesitated, as her voice ran away from her. "He won't accept that she's gone!" She shouted the words, and above her there was a flurry of birds as they flew from the branches of the tree startled. She bit lip, blinking back the tears, and she suddenly felt very cold in the September air. Shivering, she twiddled with her fingers.

Bill embraced her and she cried into his shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly to her. " I wondered when you were going to break!" She let out a choked laugh.

"What with Harry being so upset-" She broke off as she remembered a day in particular when Harry had been particularly upset, Hermione's twentieth birthday, a week ago.

Ginny apparated to Harry's apartment early on the morning of the nineteenth of September, remembering the very likely possibility that Harry would be distraught. It would have been Hermione's second birthday outside of school. She had a feeling that Ron would be here too, but she couldn't find him. She figured he'd come when he had cried a little away from the family.

Harry had been up. Sitting on the sofa, staring into the fire. In his lap was a photograph. In it Hermione was smiling, her arms wrapped around Harry and Ron. She smiled softly as she saw the Hermione in the picture lean over and kiss Ron on the cheek. Ron had that picture. He kept it under his pillow every night.

"Harry." She moved cautiously to sit beside him, and squeezed his hand encouragingly. She was startled to see his eyes filled with tears. Up until now, the only emotion he had outwardly shown in regards to Hermione's disappearance was anger and guilt. She had never seen him cry.

He didn't look at her, he simply stared back into the fire, as if it held all the answers, as if he were watching something extremely interesting that he couldn't pull is eyes away from. She rested her head gently on his shoulder and let him cry. They must have sat there for hours before he spoke.

"We were all together last year." His voice sounded rough and full of remorse. Ginny lifted her head to look at him, his hair as unruly as ever and his face reddened and swollen from the tears he had shed. His eyes, a startling green colour, were wide open.

"Harry," she whispered softly, squeezing his hand once more, but he pulled away softly.

"We were just out of Hogwarts." The tears started to fall again. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so, so sorry." He kept repeating it, his voice quivering with guilt. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"Harry stop it." Ginny stood up and took both of his hands with hers. He looked at her directly for the first time. Ginny knew exactly what had been going on in his head for the past few months and it was going to stop. Now. "Harry, it wasn't you fault." She said the words quietly but firmly.

" Hermione going missing was not your fault,"

Harry pulled away from her in anger. "Yes it was!" Ginny froze as a few more tears made a path down his already damp cheek.

"Don't you see? Of course it was my fault, she shouldn't have been there, none-" He broke off, and steadied himself before continuing. "None of you! "It's the price everyone has to pay for being near me, it's all because you're near me! People just get hurt."

He stopped being angry then, he looked utterly defeated and this scared Ginny.

"Harry, Hermione was your best friend. She loved you and Ron very much, nothing could have kept her away, she would have done anything for either of you."

Ginny blinked rapidly, she would not let the tears fall, not when Harry needed her.

"I should've, I-" Ginny cut him off entirely, and forced him to look at her.

"You could have done nothing." Her voice was determined and when she continued it was trembling. "You know Hermione, Harry, you know her, would you have been able to stop her?"

Harry was shaking his head and looking anywhere but at her.

"Would you?" She cupped his face with her hands, bringing his eyes to look unwaveringly into her brown ones.

"No." Both Harry and Ginny turned at the new voice. Ron stood at the door, wrapped in a warm cloak. His eyes were red also, and Ginny had never seen him looking so sad.

She turned a blind eye as they embraced.

"I couldn't break down too." Bill hugged her closer to him. "But he won't give up. Why can't he move on Bill?"

"I don't know Gin, you say he's been having nightmares?"

"Yes, he wakes up yelling, or crying or in a sweat. He's gone Bill."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember when we were younger, when Fred and George would always pick on me, like when they turned my hair green or jumped out from behind a bush and scared me when I was playing?"

She brought a hand roughly to her eyes and brushed away the tears still resting on her cheeks.

Bill chuckled at this.

"Hey!" Ginny swiped him on the arm. " It wasn't funny!" She let out a faint laugh just the same. "Well, Ron would always stick up for me. You know we'd play games, and he'd tell me just how to get them into trouble."

Ginny smiled a watery smile.

"Bill, he used to be so fun loving, and funny, but its all gone, I can't remember the last time I saw him smile properly, let alone laugh."

"He's still in denial Gin, he won't accept that he won't ever see Hermione again, he's just not ready yet."

"But it's not healthy!" She was beginning to border on hysteria again.

"Ok, listen, remember in a couple of weeks its Mum's birthday right?"

Ginny nodded.

"Well how about you keep an eye on him and if you're still worried about him, then I'll have a word, okay?" Ginny smiled and hugged her brother.

"Look, Ginny. Hermione gave Ron all his strength. I don't think even he knew how much he loved her. It's just going to take a very long time, but eventually he'll get that spark back, he'll be our Ron again. Okay?"

Bill smiled gruffly and held out a hand to pull her to her feet. As they walked back to the Burrow, Ginny heard squeals of laughter coming from the kitchen. She wiped at her eyes again, getting rid of every last tear and followed Bill through the door to greet her nieces.

When she arrived back at their flat, the hallways were dark, and an odd smell was wafting through the rooms.

"Harry?" She called out questioningly, as she hung her coat in a cupboard. There was no answer. She pricked her eyes and froze as she heard some noises coming from the room at the end of the corridor. She peeled her wand out from her pockets and with it raised, reached for the doorknob to the kitchen. She flung it open.

"Bloody Hell!" A voice echoed through the room and a huge pan dropped to the floor with a loud clanging noise.

"Harry?" Ginny looked up at her boyfriend who currently looked thoroughly shocked to see her and was resting on the worktop, hand clutched against his heart.

"Ginny! You scared the hell out of me!" He lifted his hand to push his glasses back up his nose, and then to run through his hair in embarrassment as she looked around the room.

Pots and pans lay all over the place, ingredients scattered over the tables, and a large cookbook lay propped against the fruit bowl on the kitchen table.

"What are you doing?" Ginny smirked with a giggle, raising her eyebrows slightly.

"Well, I was errr-" he gestured wildly to the pots and she peered slowly into a bubbling pan over the cooker. "I was trying to cook you dinner, but you're early." Harry sounded lost and nervous.

Ginny couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. Harry looked very affronted, and crossed his arms across his chest.

"What," he said very sourly, "in the name of Merlin is so funny?" Ginny only laughed harder.

"Why didn't you use magic?" She gasped, clutching her sides. Harry looked at her sheepishly.

"What is it?"

"Its Spaghetti bolognaise, your favourite!" Harry said pointedly.

"For breakfast?"

"It's lunch!" Harry exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, Harry!" She giggled lightly, "Of course it is." She felt bad laughing at his meager attempts to cook Italian, and brought him down into a warm hug. He relaxed in her grip and returned the hug.

"So," he said with a grin, "Want to try some?" He lifted up a wooden spoon and ladled a spoonful, putting it near her mouth. She smiled hesitantly and opened her mouth. It was the least she could do after laughing at him.

"Hey, this is pretty good Harry!"

"Of course it is, I followed the book exactly!" She laughed again, and reached behind her to grab plates for them both. When she turned back again, she found herself being intently watched. He leaned for her again and hugged her tightly.

"Thanks." She was thanking him for more than the food, and she hoped he knew that too. She hadn't laughed this much in a long time.

"You're welcome," Harry smiled back at her and placed a soft kiss on her lips. He tasted like spaghetti. She smiled into him and broke away softly.

In the background they heard a soft knock at the door.

"I'll get it." Ginny pulled away from him and he nodded, and started to serve the food onto the plates.

Ginny smiled, and almost skipped to the door. With all her problems today, she was happy to start to unwind a little.

Her happiness turned to worry however, when the door opened to reveal Ron, looking very sickly and weak. She cursed loudly.

"Ginny, what's wrong?" Harry poked his head out of the kitchen door and upon seeing his best mate crumbling at the entrance rushed forward and lifted his by the shoulder, and pulled him into the living room.

Ginny clicked the door shut and followed quickly.

"Ron, what the hell?" Ginny sat down next to him whilst Harry tried to find out what was wrong. Ginny already knew.

"He went to Azkaban, Harry." She said it softly and turned her head slightly to address her brother. "Didn't you?"

Ron nodded and then stood up so abruptly that he staggered slightly.

Harry looked shocked.

"To see who?"

"Malfoy." Ron's voice was tired but strong and full of hate. Ginny recoiled from him as he said the name.

Harry looked defeated, and Ginny saw his eyes glaze over just a little.

"Why?"

Ron started to pace across the room, muttering things, and running a hand through his hair.

"Ron?" She stood before him, blocking his path.

"He says that he was the one who took Hermione. He says he didn't kill her, and that she…" he broke off and looked directly at Harry. "That she might still be alive."


End file.
